Just Strange Strangers
by oceanofoswald
Summary: Klaroline: With notorious murderer 'The Hybrid' on the loose who won't fall? Maybe not his newest blonde sidekick. Who is this Caroline, anyway?
1. the unknown

**a/n -** I know, I know. I just know. But it happened and I uploaded it, so get over it. I will spend time on 'Demons', pinky swear (to myself because nobody cares, lol the joys of the internet).

So, I started watching 'Breakout Kings' and T-Bag (yes, Theodore freaking Bagwell from 'Prison Break') comes on and I just had to. I _had_ to. Because feels and he did the creepy pocket thing — hE DID IT — and I squealed. I haven't been that excited since the Klaroline shirt rip so I mixed the two together (not the shirt ripping and the creepy rapist pocket thing— but you know what I mean).

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><p><strong>one - maybe that's the way I should go,<br>straight into the mouth of the unknown**

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><p>The blonde tuts and jabs her hand into the man's chest. She doesn't even brake a nail when she — well ruthlessly is a bit strong don't you think? She is a lady after all — rips the pumping organ out of the hired minion.<p>

"Oh Mr. Mikaelson," she gracefully removes the cloth from its place upon her shoulder and wipes her hand clean. "You're going to have to try a lot harder than that." A loud thump and light footsteps are the only things left to be heard in the diner that night.

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><p><em>Five years ago..<em>

She checks her teeth for lipstick stains in her overhead mirror. Foot clamped to the accelerator and hands at seven and nine because she's expressing her inner rebel or whatever spiritual crap Bonnie would say. Stefan's name flashes on her phone and she promptly purses her lips and turns up the radio. She's only sort of late for work anyway— two hours tops. It's not like the diner will crash and burn because she decided to get an extra few minutes of beauty sleep.

Flying down the empty road with the wind in her hair — almost, she has the window down if that counts — and singing along to Imagine Dragons she forgets about real life for a second. Forgets little miss perfect's upcoming wedding extravaganza. Forgets the fact she wasn't asked to be a bridesmaid even though it's her best friend since freaking diapers walking down the isle— did the bffl friendship bracelets mean nothing to you, Elena? Forgets that she has no date for the aforementioned wedding. Forgets Mr. Snuggles found his way into her apartment (again) and vomited on her favourite rug (again). Forgets the bills she does not have the money to pay for that happen to have been due yesterday. Forgets the broken hair-straightener lying abandoned in an old shoe box under her bed that she's been meaning to replace for _weeks_— holy shit is that a man?

Her wheels screech to a stop inches away from hitting the man standing in the middle of the road. Who even does that, anyway? With a huff, she shuts off the engine and exits her vehicle.

"Are you insane?!" She slams the car door. "Like, do you have a death wish or something because I'm _so_ not getting sued for some half-assed suicide plan that went— oh shit, you're bleeding!" And extremely handsome. His broken dungarees are a little off putting but his unshaven, muscular look is working rather well for him.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya," he holds up his palms — and don't you dare giggle at the length of his fingers — and takes a step towards her. "I ran into some car trouble."

"I see that," she turns to glance at the large truck sticking out of the ditch. "Do you need some help? I—" A gasp leaves her lips as she's suddenly being pinned against her own car, her cheek painfully presses into the window. She tries to wiggle out of his hold but he jerks his hips as if scolding her.

"That would be lovely, sweetheart." His breath tickles her ear and she has always told Stefan chivalry gets you nowhere. She whimpers and sees it. The words carved clear as day into the side of the truck; 'New Orleans Penitentiary'. Well fuck her— if she isn't already screwed.

"You can take my car," she gulps. "J-just go. I won't tell anyone, I promise." Suffice it to say his laughter is not the answer she had been hoping for.

"Oh you promise, do you?" She nods against his hand — that is ruining the curls she worked all morning on — and he laughs again. He hums at the end of this one, like he's thinking. She doesn't like that. "Well, that's alright then isn't it?" He releases her and she blinks before sighing with relief and turning to face him. "Suppose you can just trot off to work with some excuse of how you were robbed on your way."

"Exactly!" She smiles and nods at him. "I was late anyway."

"And then you'll save for another car and forget all about me?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Yup!" She pops the 'p', he nods and that should've been that but she can never keep her mouth shut can she? "I'll just carry on waiting tables and cleaning throw up from my carpet." His eyes harden.

"Vomit? Are you a mother?" She barely suppresses a shiver from the way he spits the last word.

"Oh, no no no no _no_. It was Mr. Snuggles!" Her eyes widen and she waves her palms for emphasis. His lips twitch and she cringes. "He's—he's a cat. Not _my_ cat! I'm not, like, some crazy cat lady who bakes a million brownies a day and wears a hell of a lot of fur even though she claims to be an animal lover." She clears her throat. "I don't—I don't own a cat."

"So, you are a waitress who does not own a cat. Tell me, love. Anyone special?" The man edges closer to her, gliding almost.

"Well, somehow Stefan always works overtime on the days I have to lock up even though he doesn't need the money." She purses her lips and her eyebrows furrow in thought. "Although he does own the place." He nods and suddenly becomes even closer.

"So, you are a waitress who does not own a cat and does not have a boyfriend." She nods, he nods. Her nerves radiate off of her as his eyes watch every flex of her muscles. "Family?"

"Um, not really."

"I see. Friends, then?"

"Oh yeah. Tons. My best friend, Elena, is getting married next month. I mean, was I asked to be maid of honour? No. So I thought: okay, bridesmaid is fine. Better even. But was I wanted for that either? Nope. But, am I bitter? Most certainty _not_ because I have all those other friends whom I'm not going to mention," she closes her eyes, shakes her head and with a shrug of her shoulders says: "because reasons."

"So, you are a waitress who does not own a cat, does not have a boyfriend and is unwanted by your family and friends." His hand is suddenly cupping her cheek. She is almost positive her heart is about to fly itself out of her chest. "You are collateral damage, love."

"W-what?" She shakes her head uncomprehendingly but he steadies her with a rough squeeze. His free hand travels down to her hip, feeling its way. She exhales a breath of relief when he retrieves the keys from her pocket.

"Now, I offer you two choices. Come for a little trip with me or I rip your heart out of your chest." His smile is so wrong and getting in the car with him is definitely not a good idea. So she will say no. She will take pride in her death, knowing it is the right decision. Maybe she'll see her father in heaven.

"I don't wanna die." Way to stick to the plan, Forbes. He studies her for a long moment. Then releases her with a tilt of his head.

"Good." The smile that makes her blood crawl returns. She gulps down her fear— because she's a Forbes, dammit. He unlocks the car and heads to open the back door for her.

"Shotgun!" He raises his eyebrows but humours her. Which, she guesses, is a major compliment from a criminal.

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><p>A song that she would usually sing at the top of her lungs to plays on the radio and although she taps her foot she doesn't dare make a noise. She tries to study him — recognise him. She knows she has seen him somewhere — but his lips stretch into a smirk every time she stares for too long. Okay, she can do this. Just play it cool, Forbes. Be elusive. Mysterious. Take a leaf out of Katherine's book— oh, actually that's probably not a good idea.<p>

"What's your name?" Nice. Real smooth, Forbes.

"Klaus."

"Klaus." She repeats with a nod.

"As glad as I am that your hearing is in tact, I'm going to rip your head off if you turn into a parrot." She nods quickly. "One of my old cell mates was a parrot. Bloody annoying twit. Needless to say, he did not last long." Klaus's head turns toward her and she tries her hardest not to meet his gaze but it is a pointless battle. "Although, I do like how you say my name." She really doesn't know what to say to that.

"I'm Caroline." She squeaks out. Klaus smirks and his eyes return to focusing on the road.

"I know."

"What? How?" Her forehead crinkles in confusion.

"Your divers licence." He nods his head towards it and she feels herself blush.

"I knew that." She mutters and he smiles— amused, just for a second— but she misses it.

Silence falls over the car as she attempts to the best of her ability but just can't slip out a 'what did you do?' even though she's dying to. The curiosuity eating her alive— wondering how long she can stay alive. This man could be a pedophile for all she knows. But whatever got her here must have had its reasons. So, Fate, which chess piece is she? A pawn? Or the Queen?

"Why did you take me? I mean, you were about to let me go and—"

"Oh, sweetheart." He chuckles. "I was never going to let you go."

"Well," she eyes him nervously, "where are we going?"

"Where do you want to go? Rome?" He raises his eyebrows suggestively and she finds herself fighting a smile.

"Paris?" She offers.

"Maybe Tokyo." He chuckles but a mask of sincerity fills his face not second later. "I have some business to attend to along the way."

"What— what kind of business?" Caroline asks hesitantly.

"Never you mind, love. Just keep tapping your foot and we'll be there before you know it."


	2. I was born sick

**a/n - **It's Klaroline weekend so here you go.

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><p><strong>two - I was born sick, but I love it,<br>command me to be well**

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><p>He places a hand on her knee (a silent <em>don't screw this up<em>) and rolls down the window. She inhales sharply and plants a smile on her face. A white face peers through the window.

"Is there something wrong, officer?" He shines his dimples and the man with the badge adjusts his glasses.

"Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle for a moment?" The man pushes his glasses further along his nose.

Klaus' eyes twitch but then he slips an easy grin onto his face. "But of course." He squeezes Caroline's thigh in warning before stepping out of the car. She breathes a sigh of relief when the door shuts then opens her own. She could just out him. The opportunity is perfect. But maybe she doesn't have to, if he's escaped from prison then this guard is bound to have been informed. All she has to do is sit back and wait.

"Now, we don't want any trouble." Klaus states as he watches the guard search Caroline's car.

"Don't worry, sir. We mightn't have any." The officer inspects the holes between the front and passenger seats.

"Well, surly I have a right to know why you are searching her car." Klaus absentmindedly picks at his nails and he looks to Caroline who scratches the back of her head guiltily. He raises his eyebrows and she sends him a sheepish grin.

"Uh, the term 'mine' may be used a little loosely in this situation." She whispers and he closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh.

"Please tell me I did not hijack a stolen car." He stares at her and she smiles bashfully.

"Technically, yeah." She admits. "With a hostage."

"Brilliant." He blinks at her and she flutters her eyelashes at him. The guard huffs and holds in his hand the little booklet she prayed he wouldn't find. Klaus struts off toward the parked Police car.

"And how would you like to explain this?" The guard holds up 'her' car registration and ID. Caroline licks her lips. "Unless your anti-ageing cream has worked wonders on your deceased face, Miss Wallaby."

"Um, have you ever played truth or dare?" She giggles nervously and he squints at her.

"Listen, miss. This will only get worse for you if you don't confess, so if there's anything you want to say in your defence, do so now." He leans closer to her and whispers. "If that boyfriend of yours is pressuring you into things—"

"Boyfriend? Does it really look like we're together? I mean, _really_?" She squeaks.

"Yes, miss." He says, exasperated. "You make quite a cute couple but if there's anything you want to—"

"_Cute_? What do you mean _cute_? I haven't been cute since high school! Just look at my ass, I've moved straight up to the hot plateau!" She jabs her index finger at him. "I did five internet quizzes and seven magazine questionnaires that confirmed it!" He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by Klaus who swings from behind. The guard's head bounces off the back seat window before landing on the ground with a thump. Caroline stares open mouthed as his body wobbles then collapses.

"Hot plateau?" Klaus questions with a lazy smirk.

"Seriously?!" She exclaims, waving her hands dramatically. "It's the middle of the day and you just _murdered_ someone!"

"On a deserted highway, so it's fine."

"Oh my _God_, Klaus! That is so not my definition of 'fine'!" She groans and slaps her palm to her forehead. "What am I suppose to do?"

"Get a new dictionary?" She gapes at him.

"I'M COVERED IN SOMEONE'S BLOOD!"

"Don't be dramatic, sweetheart. You're not _covered_ in it." He drops his weapon and it lands noisily on the ground. He grabs a tissue from her glove compartment and begins to dab at the blood splattered across his face. She watches him, flabbergasted.

"MURDERER!" She sputters.

"Thief." He states calmly, with a smirk on his face. "You know, love. Most people don't tend to hold onto stolen cars. But, then again, most people don't steal cars."

"Yeah, well." She huffs. "Most people don't murder either, so." She crosses her arms over her chest and he just stands and watches her. Caroline puffs out her cheeks and tries to ignore him but his eyes dig into her skin. "What?" She demands harshly.

"Nothing." Klaus raises his eyebrows. "I'm just glad you were late for work."

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><p>She says nothing when he gently wipes the blood off her face. She says nothing when he places his jacket around her shoulders to cover the red stains as they walk into the hotel — if you could call it that — lobby. She says nothing when he signs for their room as Mr and Mrs Brandon. She says nothing but almost sighs as he pulls out the actual Mr Brandon's credit card (because yes, he stole from a dead body— but isn't it worse that he was the one that killed him?). She says nothing as he leads her into <em>their<em> room, hand rooted to her lower back.

"Do I have to bind you to the bed while I shower?"

She says nothing.

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><p>Caroline changes into the nightdress that appears from God knows where and lays in the bed. Her head aches from all that's managed to happen to her in not even a full day. She breathes in the smell of the sheets. Freshly washed, unlike the rest of the mangy hotel. But hostages can't be choosers, she guesses. She wonders who'll notice she's missing. Matt might bring it up, Matt's always been nice to her (but he's nice to everyone so she learned it didn't count). <em>'It's just Caroline, she'll be back when she's hungry.'<em> Damon will say and everyone will listen to him (because everyone always listens to him).

The bed creaks and a warm body presses into her back. She bites her lip as strong arms wrap around her waist. But she lets them. Mostly because she's too emotionally drained to fight, but also because she doesn't want to anger him and _how long has he even been in prison?_ They lay in silence, his breath tickles her neck. He seems to relax when she shows no signs of pulling away. She thinks now would be a good time to ask the question, while he is seemingly happy with her.

"Why were you in prison?" She whispers and he shifts slightly, his leg pressing against hers.

"You said it yourself." He matches her low tone. "I'm a murderer." She takes a deep breath and tries to think of another situation appropriate question.

"How did you escape?"

"Pretended to have a heart attack. You'll find there's quite a lot of people willing to help me." He says smugly. "They were taking me to my funeral in that van. Suffice it to say I surprised them." He smirks into her hair and she rolls her eyes.

"Why did you escape?"

"I didn't particularly want to spend the next seventeen years in a straight jacket."

"Seventeen years? Wow, they let you off easy didn't they?" Caroline furrows her eyebrows (because _straight jacket_).

"Oh, sweetheart." Klaus strokes circles into her stomach and looks at her like she's the most adorable thing in the world. "That's how long until my execution."


	3. call me your favourite

**a/n - **you get this because 'Orange Is The New Black' season two came out on Netflix! When I finished it I had all these feels so I decided to work on both criminal Klaroline au stories.

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><p><strong>three - call me your favourite,<strong>

**call me the worst**

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><p>The day Caroline met Katherine Pierce felt like the end of her life.<p>

Katherine was beautiful, talented, a big city girl with stories to tell and not stuck with a million and one debts. It was instant hatred, on both parts. Caroline hated Katherine because she was everything Caroline wanted to be, and Katherine hated Caroline...well, because she could, really.

Even fairytales have obstacles. So, Caroline saw this as hers (this and the that goddamn cat). Katherine was the Serena to her Blair— except without the best friends bit— and it doesn't matter if the hair colour is the other way around— look, CAROLINE IS THE QUEEN BEE AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT; quote Caroline Forbes' slogan for every beauty pageant ever.

Anyway, the game was most definitely on.

"Damon, darling," Katherine would say and the raven haired man would be at her side in an instant, "fetch my drink would you?"

"Stefan, sweetie," Katherine would say and the blonde would suddenly appear by her other side, "be a good boy and rub my shoulders."

And Caroline would watch as the Salvatores succumbed to her every request with a smile on her face (diner policies suck), a dishcloth in her hand, and murder fantasies in her mind.

You may wonder why Caroline is having flashbacks to her, as she refers to it, filler year problems. Well, you can ask Rebekah Mikaelson.

Caroline was chomping on a soggy salad sandwich (even with the extra lettuce that thing tasted like someone had given it a shower before bringing it up to her room— _it was a prostitute sandwich!_) and watching some western movie on the old television while lying on the creaky rented bed in a dead woman's (she had _seen_ the blood, Klaus, you did _not_ find this in the lost and found) dress (it's floral _and_ lacy). She's reached an all time low, she knows.

Anyway, she was enjoy— _surviving_ when the phone rang. Of course, Caroline being Caroline completely forgot Klaus' warning to 'not touch the phone if you happen to catch your arm in the doorway and it gets torn off of your delicious body then is stolen by a Chihuahua with wings' (yes, this is a notorious serial killer's worst case scenario— she genuinely considered quoting that on his Wikipedia page, then she realised she didn't know if he had one, and then she realised that she can't use the Internet and that's how the prostitute sandwich was ordered) and picks up the phone.

"Hello?" She says, mouth full of tomato.

"I'm looking for Niklaus." A posh accent responds in a bored tone.

"Mr. Mikaelson can't come to the phone right now." Caroline smirks to herself, rubbing her fingers together to get rid of some crumbs.

The accented voice sighs impatiently. "Well, tell him to hurry the bloody hell on and stop fooling around with hookers and spontaneous murders."

"Kay— wait, are you calling me a prostitute?" She gapes at the accusation, pushing the sandwich out of her line of vision coyly.

The posh-o laughs condescendingly and Caroline rolls her eyes. "Look, I don't care if he's paying you or not just put him on the phone." The last part sounds like a threat. Caroline shivers at the soft purr she has in her voice. A silent 'or else' this woman is able to send even over the phone.

"Look, lady. I'm not sleeping with Klaus. Not that I wouldn't, because I _so_ would. If he wasn't, y'know, a psychopath of course! I mean, he's kind of like Hannah Montana. Murderer without the wig and charming tourist with. Plus those dimples are just so _not_ fair. And the pet names! They just play with my ovaries! I have never once in my been called 'love'— I mean, people have been in love with me _obviously_ but nobody's ever called me that. Nobody's ever really called me anything special besides 'blondie', really." Caroline trails off in thought then shakes her head and returns to reality. "Uh, sorry, where was I?"

"You were not sleeping with my brother, but wanting to."

"Yeah, well— your what now?"

"My brother." She pauses as her lips twitch. "The psychopathic wig wearer."

"Oh god, don't tell him that." Caroline slaps a hand to her cheek.

"Rebekah."

Caroline blinks. "What?"

"My name." And then she hangs up.

Caroline was confused. She did come to a conclusion that she didn't like the posh tottie because she's more than likely a psycho too, being blood bound to one and all. Plus her arrogance reminded Caroline of Damon and she did not need that on top of all the other stress she was feeling.

"Honey, I'm home." Klaus returns to the hotel with bloodstained hands. He looks so very content. Caroline tries not to gag. He disappears into the bathroom to wash his hands then swaggers back toward her and plops himself down beside her. "How was your day?" Are they really playing house now? Maybe this is how he deals with things. He gives himself something normal and tells himself the rest of it is as well. Or he's just messing with her. Probably the last one.

"Well, besides posh British people threatening me over the phone I had a rather uneventful day." She sighs. "You know, all they have besides country music channels here is country _movies_." His hand squeezes her shoulder roughly and she winces.

"Caroline." He purrs dangerously. "What did I tell you not to do?"

"Not use the phone." She whispers

"And what did you do?"

She gulps and her voice lowers even more. "Use the phone."

He sighs, clearly disappointed. "That's a pity. I quite fancied you." His hand slithers up to her neck and she gasps realising what's happening.

"Wait! Please! It was just Rebekah! I'm sorry!"

He paused. "How did she know where we were?" She hopes the fact that he referred to them as 'we' is a good sign.

"I don't know." She sighs in relief as he removes his hand from her neck but is still cautious.

"We have to go." He jumps off of the bed and opens the drawer beside his side of the bed to take out a black duffel bag (can you say cliché). As he rushes around the room placing things into the bag Caroline pushes herself into a sitting position.

"Why?"

"Because if my sister can find us then there are worse people who might already know where we are."

"Worse people?"

He stops moving and sighs. Klaus walks over to her and puts his hands on either side of her body. "Caroline, you have to promise to listen and cooperate, or else I'll have to find another hostage." He studies her eyes and she nods slowly.

"I promise." She watches his shoulders relax slightly. "Klaus?" He hums in response as he looks around the room to check if he has forgotten anything. "Could I wear _anything_ else, please?"


End file.
